


Words May Yet Come

by Pom_Rania



Series: Little By Little [21]
Category: Star Wars: Rebels
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Awkward Conversations, Gen, Kanan's delicate nose, references to Lasan, unintentionally hurting someone and then trying to make it better, visually-impaired Ezra Bridger
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-23
Updated: 2017-03-23
Packaged: 2018-10-09 19:28:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,433
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10419585
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pom_Rania/pseuds/Pom_Rania
Summary: Ezra and Zeb talk for the first time since Ezra's surprise reveal. It is awkward for both of them.





	

Zeb didn’t think of himself as a coward. He was brave, strong; a warrior, a survivor. But an important part of that was being honest with himself, and he had to admit: he had acted in cowardice, running away from his fears and doubts and uncertainties.

From Ezra.

He had gone to release his aggression on a difficult hunt, in a place he knew Ezra wouldn’t be. End results of that endeavour: one dead spider, knowledge that they smelled too bad on the inside for him to consider them a viable food source, the better part of an hour spent trying to clean himself sufficiently, and one set of clothing incinerated after the scent couldn’t be removed from it. Absolutely nothing productive.

He didn’t know what he could have done instead, but the point was that he hadn’t even tried.

He didn’t much know what Ezra had been doing in that time, either. All he knew was that Ezra had slept elsewhere – somewhere safe, Hera had reassured him – the past night, had gone out in the morning before Zeb could do more than get a glimpse of him, and had apparently said _something_ to Sabine which upset her. She didn’t want to talk about it, and Zeb didn’t ask.

He was worried that their family was starting to fall apart. It didn’t always come as a big dramatic fight; it could start as giving someone their distance, for a necessary moment, and then the moment continued until it was too awkward to stop. He needed to make sure Ezra had enough space, but also enough connection to the people who loved him. He needed to keep everyone together. He needed... to talk to Ezra, even if just to say that the spiders weren’t edible. Anything, so long as it was conversation.

He wasn’t going to wait for the perfect moment, perfect moments for awkward talks didn’t exist. He just needed a moment, any moment.

The moment didn’t come.

Ezra was nowhere to be seen. He was probably still out somewhere, it wasn’t evening yet.

Night fell, and still no sign of Ezra, at least not that Zeb knew of. In normal circumstances, there would be no reason to expect Ezra to be back by then. He wasn’t a child; he didn’t have a set bedtime. But Zeb couldn’t help but think that this was intentional, that Ezra was avoiding him on purpose.

If that was the case, there was nothing he could do about it. All he could do was wait, and see if Ezra would show up to sleep in his own bunk.

Zeb had almost resigned himself to the fact that Ezra would not be coming back any time soon, when the door slid open. Ezra stood there, framed against the corridor. “Hey,” he said, and weakly smiled.

Zeb grunted in response. He had wanted to say something... but there was nothing really to say. _Where were you, what happened, were you actually avoiding us,_ those words wouldn’t help. They would just make the distance greater.

Ezra kicked off his boots, and sniffed. “Kanan was right,” he said. “You do still smell. Worse than normal, I mean.”

Zeb chuckled. “Are you going to develop a super-sensitive nose too?” he asked.

That was a mistake. Somehow, that had been the wrong thing to say. Ezra didn’t glare at him, or get angry, he just... seemed to withdraw and tense up. He carefully put his boots away, instead of leaving them wherever they landed. He said nothing.

They didn’t normally talk much while they were getting ready for bed, but it was rarely silent. This was thick, oppressive; like it had an existence of its own, defying anyone to break it.

Once Ezra had changed into his sleepwear, Zeb waited with something between anxiety and anticipation. This was when it had happened before, the arguments about the lights. He was going to do it differently this time. He wasn’t going to make a fuss about it, he wouldn’t complain about the lights being on. He was –

He didn’t expect Ezra to wordlessly hit the switch, plunging the room into darkness.

Why – wasn’t that a –

"...you can leave it on if you want,“ Zeb said, once he found his voice. "If I can sleep sitting up with a battle raging on the other side of a thin wall, and I can, I can sleep in my own bunk with a little bit of overhead light.” Especially if it meant so much to a member of his family.

"Well, that’s not what you said last week.“

Zeb couldn’t see Ezra – from the dark, from their relative positions – but he didn’t need to. He got everything he needed to know, none of it pleasant, from the tone of voice. He imagined being limited to that, forever.

He didn’t know how to respond. He could deny – deny that he’d said those words (although he had), deny that he meant anything by it – try to explain – justify himself... but what mattered was how Ezra had felt hearing it, not just what he’d meant in saying it. 

He didn’t know what to say, so he didn’t say anything. He only hit the switch himself, wordlessly, and the room was illuminated again. Visible.

"Seriously, Zeb,” Ezra said, and he was obviously trying to sound calm and casual. “I need to get used to it sooner or later.”

_Get used to not being able to see._

No, that wasn’t it; he wouldn’t have said something like that so calmly. He probably meant “get used to sleeping with the light off”, but now the other interpretation was in Zeb’s mind.

One could get used to almost anything, no matter how painful. Zeb knew that, from personal experience he wouldn’t have wished on his worst enemy (if only because it would involve people other than said “worst enemy” suffering). It was possible, but it was never pleasant. And there was no advice or comfort he could offer, other than trite phrases like “it will feel better with time” which, although true, never actually helped.

He lay back, and stared at the underside of the bunk above. He wasn’t used to looking at it. Normally, if he was in his bunk, either his eyes would be closed because he was sleeping, or he would be sitting up and thus not facing it. There were a few scratches in the otherwise-smooth surface, but nothing interesting. If this was going to be a regular occurrence, maybe he should put something there, like a poster or two, to liven it up....

He shouldn’t still be awake, but it wasn’t because of the light. Zeb could sleep in almost any environment or condition. The only exception was when there was still something that he needed to do. As was the case.

He couldn’t just leave it like that with Ezra. Don’t fall asleep on an argument, because you don’t know if either of you will ever wake up again; that had been drilled into him. Now, they probably weren’t in any danger, and it wasn’t _really_ an argument,  but it was still a problem, one that needed to be addressed.

He opened his mouth, and took a deep breath. “Look, I… I’m sorry,” he said.

There was a “sorry for what?”-shaped silence coming from above him, from where Ezra was not sleeping.

"Getting on your case about the lights.“

There was no response, but he’d expected that. "I can sleep anywhere, and you know it,” he continued. “I was just arguing with you, because it’s fun. Was fun.” That was now apparently one more thing he’d lost in life, that easy friendly teasing.

"You’re important to us,“ Zeb said in Ezra’s direction. He closed his eyes; it wasn’t like he’d be able to see him anyways. "You matter. Don’t forget that.”

Ezra mumbled something. From the tone of it, it was probably nothing that anyone was intended to hear. Maybe he himself didn’t even know what he was saying.

Zeb didn’t want to make the same mistake again, or the same type of mistake. “If you need something, or if I’m doing something wrong... just tell me.” He thought about that, and added, “You’re not a bother. We’re in this together. We’re family.”

He remembered how Kanan had behaved and responded, in the months after Malachor; and years earlier, in his former life on Lasan, how badly-injured comrades sometimes talked, when they felt useless and a burden. Ideally, he wanted to prevent that line of thought from ever taking hold.

"Is that it?“ Ezra quietly said.

"Look, it’s not easy for any of us,” that was an understatement, “but you have just as much right to feel or complain or, whatever,” and he trailed off. The sentiment had been so clear in his head, but the words refused to come; a sensation he was unfortunately familiar with. All he could do was hope that somehow, the meaning got through. “I don’t know what I can do to help, but I’ll be there for you.”

Zeb sighed. “That’s... I can’t think of anything else to say. Goodnight.”

There was a pause, and then an almost-mocking snort. “Okay, whatever,” Ezra said. “I’m trying to sleep up here, so stop talking.”

That wasn’t the response Zeb had hoped for, but it _was_ the one he’d expected. Ezra wanted to act like everything was normal. Truth be told, so did Zeb; only, he wasn’t sure what was now “normal”.

For months, the “normal” between them had been based on a lie, that there was nothing wrong. With that out of the way, they needed to determine what would be normal, moving forward. Only... it would keep changing over the next few years, as Ezra’s sight continued to deteriorate. It would only settle into a constant once he was totally and permanently blind, and nobody was eager for that to happen.

Some things were obvious. Ezra’s night vision was never coming back, that was a fact. Until they had discussed it, and come to a reasonable conclusion, Zeb would make sure that the room was sufficiently bright. That was easy enough to do.

For everything else, there were no easy or apparent solutions.

Ezra would naturally be off active duty until everyone concerned had worked out what he could do, and what he needed. That was a long and boring process, and Zeb knew it, but at least the Rebellion didn’t give its members the unpleasant and tedious tasks while they were recovering. (There was a lot that he missed about the Lasan guard, but not that.) Afterwards, they would be able to figure out what would become normal for missions; but until that was sorted, they could expect boredom and complaints.

There was no telling how long it would take. Any of it. Except for... the medical droid knew the condition’s expected timescale, to within half a year, but there was nothing about how long it would take for anything good to happen. When Ezra would stop avoiding them, when they would feel like they could smile again; when they could all be together and functioning and happy and it wouldn’t matter that some of them couldn’t really see.

Ezra shifted, and the sound from his blankets seemed unreasonably loud. He was almost certainly still awake, it hadn’t been that long. No matter what he had been going through, before then, it hadn’t disturbed his sleeping patterns, not in any way that Zeb would have been able to notice. Although, Zeb had been away for a week, and Ezra hadn’t slept in that room the previous night... maybe it had changed. He would find out soon enough.

Zeb remembered that not everything that took someone’s sight was so “kind” in that respect. He had slept beside Kanan, to give Hera a break, when the Jedi’s sleep was constantly interrupted by pain and screaming nightmares; it hadn’t been enjoyable, but he had willingly done it, because it was needed. He hoped it would never come to that with Ezra. Hera’s information said that vision loss from Sacul Syndrome was painless, but they all knew that physical pain was just one possibility.

Ezra probably wasn’t going to ask for comfort. Would he accept it, if offered? More importantly, would he ask for, and accept, help if he needed it? Zeb mentally shrugged. Maybe?

Ezra wanted everything to seem normal; and “normally” he wouldn’t need help or comfort, but on the other hand, refusing something and making a big scene about it would also not be “normal”. Through his closed eyelids, Zeb could see that the room’s lights were still on. That was a sign of some kind, possibly telling him how to proceed. If he simply went ahead and did something to help, so long as it would actually be helpful, that might be the best course of action. Ezra would complain, and say that he didn’t need it, but it would be easier than waiting for him to admit that he needed it. (By the time _that_ happened, it would have become a non-issue for one reason or another.)

Sometimes things could never go back to how they had been, and sometimes there was a horrible reason for why everything changed. Going blind would fall under that.  Still, just because something was irrevocably lost, that didn’t mean that one couldn’t find something different that was also good.

Zeb had the perfect example of that. Lasan was gone. Everyone he had known from there was dead, and he would never meet them again this side of the veil. There was absolutely nothing good about the massacre of his people, his charges, his family. Despite all that, he loved his new family, on the Ghost. There was no question of “replacing” what he had lost, it didn’t work that way, but they were important to him, and every bit as valuable, and precious.

He would never be able to share that, though, not if he intended it to help in any way. Ezra would likely interpret it as “I’ve had it worse than you, so don’t complain or feel bad”, instead of “no matter how bad it gets, there can still be good things on the other side”.

Maybe Zeb couldn’t share it then, not in words. Maybe all he could do was live out that knowledge that it wasn’t the end, as an example.  And just maybe, if he was luckier than he had any right to be, he would find a way to get it across in ways that Ezra could understand.


End file.
